


Whole

by squidmemesinc



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Basically PWP, M/M, legal Keith
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-06
Updated: 2016-07-06
Packaged: 2018-07-21 21:43:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7405990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/squidmemesinc/pseuds/squidmemesinc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes when you watch closely, you notice the soft-skinned fingers of his left hand ghosting along the smooth, flawless, unbreakable surface of the right, trying to incite a tender, familiar connection that simply cannot be made. </p>
<p>The feelings from four years ago never faded. Not even for those few months you believed he might be dead. You’re not going to settle along the outside anymore.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Whole

**Author's Note:**

> Hello again
> 
> There's a really sadly small number of E rated fics on this tag. I'm gonna be the change (flex emoji)
> 
> I have plans for this kind of bigger, slightly convoluted Shiro/Keith/Lance series and this was going to be part of it but I got thirsty and didn't want to write plot, so here you go. Basically my point was I might reuse parts of this idea in later fics, maybe.
> 
> Anyway!! Have fun.

It takes a year before you finally squeeze your way into his one-person bed. Once, twice, three times.

And then in the in-between moments you begin to notice something that’s been on the periphery of your attention for an entire year.

You can understand. It’s alien tech, forced into his being without his permission and most likely without his knowledge. Sometimes when you watch closely, you notice the soft-skinned fingers of his left hand ghosting along the smooth, flawless, unbreakable surface of the right, trying to incite a tender, familiar connection that simply cannot be made. In these moments, he doesn’t notice what he’s doing, else he wouldn’t do it, but you do.

The feelings from four years ago never faded. Not even for those few months you believed he might be dead. You’re not going to settle along the outside anymore.

 

You knock twice on Shiro’s door.

“Come in,” he says as if he already knows it’s you. But when you walk in, he acts surprised, at least with the look on his face. He’s still getting off the floor, just the slightest bit shiny as if he’s been doing push-ups for half an hour. “Hey, Keith.”

“Hey,” you say, sinking down onto his perfectly made bed and trying not to feel guilty when the comforter rumples under your weight.

“What’s up?” He scrubs his left hand across his forehead under his fringe. You stare a little obviously and give a shrug as an answer.

He smiles, knowing what that means as well, and lifts himself off the floor to sit next to you. He leans in so easily, breaching the space between you, and puts his hand gently on your thigh, kissing you. You sink into him gratefully, momentarily forgetting that you came here to try to help him, not the other way around. Well, maybe it was partially motivated by selfishness, but you hope your selfish love can spill over into something more altruistic.

You lock your lips to his, your hands on his shoulder and his waist, ready to pull him with you when you sink down backwards onto the bed. He catches you and lowers you down slowly, and your bodies are a mess of bumping and tangling for a moment while you arrange your legs around his. He pulls back all too soon, smiling fondly at you. “So, you did have an agenda?” he teases.

You smile back, cheeky, and land your hands on his biceps, one right on the seam of human and machine. His lips close over his teeth and his eyes take on a little bit of a sad light. “Shiro,” you say, “you weren’t always left-handed.”

He sits up, and you aren’t fast enough to catch him, so you’re forced to follow suit. “You noticed, huh?” he says wryly. You’re both sitting cross-legged, perfectly framing each other in posture.

You take both of his hands, staring down at them. “You’re afraid of it.” You lift his right slightly, feeling how it hangs just slightly looser in your grasp than the left, and much cooler, devoid of human warmth and filled with something much more artificial.

Shiro looks where you’re looking, turning over his robotic hand in your grasp so it’s palm-up. “Sometimes I still worry that they can control me with it.” He curls it into a fist, clenches it for a second, then releases it again.

“You could fight it,” you tell him with complete surety.

“You don’t know what they’re capable of. To be honest, none of us do.” Your eyes meet and you try not to feel the difference in your ages, the differences in what you’ve experienced. “Keith, Allura and Coran have been asleep for ten thousand years, and I was only a prisoner. I only saw the fringes of what they were capable of. And I still feel like we’ve only scraped the tip of the iceberg in this last year of gathering information on them.”

“I know that,” you tell him, determined to keep your mind unchanged by his reality check. “But I still think you’re stronger than all of that. I don’t think you’d ever be able to hurt any of us.” You turn his human hand over, making his body symmetrical again, and open to you. You ghost your thumbs over his palms, feeling the difference in texture on your skin, but also noticing the vibrant hum you feel in his body at your touch. The cybernetic skin responds just as enthusiastically, and you glance up to see if he can feel it too. He’s staring at his hands, brow furrowed, not offering another contradiction to your argument or your caresses.

Your fingers travel up his arms, cupping his wrists, tracing the points where life flows through them—some blood, and some quintessence.

“Keith,” Shiro says, twitching and breaking the moment out of apprehension.

You force him to catch your eyes and note the sincerity with which you speak. “I trust you, Shiro.” You circle his wrists tight enough to pull them towards you, setting his hands on your thighs. “You didn’t think I was satisfied with just a little kissing, did you?” You smile, again feeling his energy pulsing against you where your bodies touch, because he wasn’t satisfied either.

There’s a moment where you think he might not relent, and an even worse moment when it occurs to you that he could call the whole thing off, but even as your leader, and especially as your friend, he’s always been one to melt down when the stakes are low enough and the prize is tempting.

You assume your earlier pose, pressed up against each other with him crouching between your legs, teasing your desperate tongue with infuriatingly expert grazes. Your body is eager for acceleration, and you pluck at the fastenings of his pants, which you quickly and happily feel stretching for his own eagerness. A moan slips from your mouth into his, vibrating against your lips so that an itch is scratched when he catches one between his teeth. He shifts his hips forward, encouraging your attempts to disassemble them.

You can only get them down so far before he has to swing off the bed and kick them down. He tugs off his shirt too, standing for a moment with his arms stretched over his head, showing off his naked, Adonis-like body for you to ogle before you remember to fight with your own belt for freedom. Shiro throws his shirt off to the side and climbs back over you before you can even get your fly down and tugs your pants off you easily.

He smiles at you and you feel your cock swell a little more from the self-assured lilt of it, but he doesn’t touch you there. He shoves up the hem of your shirt, mouthing across your stomach so that it tenses and he laughs. “Shiro, come on,” you complain, gripping his shoulder.

“Manners,” he prods you, just for the fun of it, keeping that smile as he presses light, unsatisfying kisses to your ribs.

You roll your eyes. “ _Please_ , Shiro.” You shift under him and he laughs. Shiro moves over you, reaching above the bed for the bed for the compartment where he stashes lube and condoms. He takes the bottle in his right hand and pops the cap. His fingers are soon slick and one is pressing into you nice and deep, a stretch that’s intimate and unfamiliar enough to you that it’s still novel and thrilling. You grip the sheets and throw your head back, moaning.

He pumps his finger in to the knuckle, nudging it against your body and arcing it into you. But it’s still the only place he’s touching you. You open your eyes and grab his other hand where it’s hanging at his side and tug it onto your body. Shiro doesn’t fight it, though you can feel him slowing up nervously. “It’s just a habit at this point,” he defends himself against your stubbornness.

“So break it,” you say, keeping your hand over his, holding him to your body once again.

He smiles and pushes another finger into you, spreading them immediately while his cybernetic hand travels up your torso. You can see the faint purple glow in between the smooth seams. Enemy alien tech or not, it’s a remarkable piece of engineering. There are no pinch points between the different pieces, so it feels just like a normal hand, except for the eerie, inhuman coolness. It never breaks or dents or dirties, either. You wouldn’t even know where it came from if you’d never seen anything Galra-made before.

His fingers dip under the bunched hem of your shirt and he thumbs gently over your nipple. You make a soft noise and let your eyes flutter again, offering the encouragement of your body to reassure him that it’s still him, so you still like it. His finger splay on your chest, rubbing the bud between the manufactured webbing as his other hand rocks your body against it while he fingers you. A third joins the other two and you drag your knees closer to your body, letting them fall open around him. Your cock is throbbing with the goal of getting your attention, but you’re determined to hold out on touching yourself as long as he does.

“Keith…” Shiro mumbles, voice thick with lust. You hum happily at the sound of your name in his tone. He drops down alongside you, brushing your hair away from your neck with his arm propped up around your shoulder so he can light down on it, nuzzling his nose against your skin. You reach for his thick, hard cock and give it a squeeze, earning your first reciprocated moan that thrums into your neck. His fingers reach deep into you as his body tightens, hitting you dead center. You’re now stuck in a reciprocal orchestra of sound and touch.

Your whole body is buzzing with the need for him, a carnal desire. Even with him lying along your body, where you can feel his heart pounding into your shoulder, you want more. “ _Shiro_ ,” is all you say, counting on him to read you again, like a friend you’ve known for half your life, like a paladin you share a mental link with, like a newly-made lover that fell into place as the last and most obvious piece. And he does, drawing back and reaching for the condom. You roll onto your side, sinking back against his chest and holding your breath with anticipation.

He moves into you slowly, carefully, but you already feel ready for all of him. You don’t care if it aches just a little, or even a lot—you lift your thigh in his grip, opening yourself up to him more. His forehead presses into your shoulder and you can hear him stifling soft noises in his throat, breathing hard enough that his chest pushes against your back.

“Stop worrying about hurting me so much,” you breathe with a laugh, trying to rock back onto him.

“Trust me,” he groans, “I’m not doing this just for your benefit.” There’s a smile in his voice that fades when he hits up to the hilt and you’re both pulsing in time with each other, biting your lips.

“ _Shiro_ , I really can’t take it…” you insist, curling your chin to your chest and keeping your mouth open to pant. He makes a strangled noise and rolls his hips in a smooth circle, pulling out of you and pushing back in, rewarding you both with tantalizing friction. Once circle turns into two, three, more, and you’re quickly groaning and gasping in time with the sound of his skin slapping against yours.

“Keith, _ahh_ …” Shiro’s face is pressed hard into your neck, nose brushing your jawline and breath coming across your shoulder in hot pants. His cock is rigid in your ass and throbs against your aching, twitching walls. You slap your hand onto your own dick and pump once for each time he thrusts himself against your body, moving both of you up and down across the messy bed that was pristine until however many minutes ago. You’re desperate to be swallowed by him, pushing your back and shoulders firmly against his solid body and hooking your toes around his ankle tightly. You feel like together with him, you’re one tightly coiled spring, twisting tighter and tighter with each slip of friction.

Shiro shifts suddenly up, and in one motion threads his cool fingers through the hair at the base of your neck, moving up and gripping a thick handful tightly, though he doesn’t pull or twist you. He folds himself over your body, hugging your leg up even higher towards your body as he continues to fuck into you, and latches his teeth over your shoulder. You gasp and rock hard into him, jerking your body in between the solid corners of your body where he has you completely pinned. You’re gasping out fragments of his name and he’s working a deep bruise into your skin to seal himself there.

Shiro breaks away from your neck after a minute and your skin feels raw and cool in the temperate air flowing through the castle. Your cock about to burst in your hand, leaking and smearing all over your stomach and the sheets as you’re continuously jostled by his dick slamming into you. His hand is still taut in your hair, making your scalp tingle, and your name falls like a desperate whisper from his lips to your ear. His groans stagger and stutter, but his hips stay strong and his body continues to squeeze and release around yours.

The sensations build to a peak, and the spring that you were coils too far until your hand grows slicker and sloppier with your release. You’re only just barely starting to come when you hear Shiro’s voice seize in your ear and his hips speed up just another impossible fraction more. You both ride it out together, clinging to the threshold as long as you can before you drop off into something more subtle, but not necessarily less pleasant, and your bodies droop and gradually relax into stillness.

Shiro shuffles out of it before you, cleaning up as much as is needed, but of course not as much as can be, and then he settles back against your body. Your shirt is still bunched around your armpits and slid off one shoulder, and you’d like to be rid of it, but instead you just tug it down and sidle back against him, enjoying the feel of his warmth now that you don’t need to worry about the other things your body wants. You realize belatedly that he’s combing his fingers gently through your hair. You wonder if he realizes he’s doing it, or if this is the human connection he’s been attempting to foster over the last year.

“Shiro,” you murmur softly, eyes closed.

“Mm.” His alien fingers don’t stop raking through your tresses.

“I really hope the castle doesn’t get attacked right now.”

You feel the chuckle in his throat against your back. “If it does, you’re going to have to figure out how to fly two lions at once.”


End file.
